When my mother was fifteen-sixteen, she sang with a trio that performed all over Oklahoma.  One night, after dark, there was a knock at the Wilson door.  Her father answered and was faced with a group of Ku Klux Klan members in white robes and face coverings.  "We want Margie Wilson," they said.

They drove her to a secluded area where fifty to one hundred other members were outfitted in their Klan robes.  "We want you to sing," she was told.

The other members of the trio had already been taken there.  They sang.  And sang.  Knees knocking.  Shaking. Scared to death.

"What was the worst part," I once asked her?

"When they took off their hoods and I could see who they were.  We were from a small town, and I knew most of these men.  It made me sick.  I would never again be able to meet someone on the street without knowing who they really were.  Klan members."

Secret things.  Hidden things.  Covered things.

Paul said:  "For it is a shame even to speak of those things which are done of them in secret."  Ephesians 5:12

"He that says he is in the light, and hates his brother, is in darkness even until now." 1 John 2:9